
" Never yet was a spring-time 

When the buds forgot to blow " 



rp.4 



EASTER BELLS 

Ipoems 



BY -^ SJ^ 

MARGARET E. SANGSTER 



ILLUSTRATED 




NEW YORK 

HARPER AND BROTHERS 

MDCCCXCVII 



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By MRS. SANGSTER. 

WITH MY NEIGHBORS. i6mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $i 25. 

ON THE ROAD HOME. Poems. Illustrated. i6mo, 
Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25. 

LITTLE KNIGHTS AND LADIES. Poems. Illus- 
trated. i6mo. Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25. 

HOME FAIRIES AND HEART FLOWERS. Illus- 
trated. 4to, Cloth, Ornamental, $6 00. 

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 



\ c^' ^ %l lc>6 



Copyright, 1897, by HARPER & BROTHERS. 
All rights reserved. 



TO 
MY DEAR FRIEND 

CORNELIA REMSEN JOHNSON 

THESE SIMPLE VERSES 

^re Hobinslg JEnscrfljetr 



The poems here gathered, originally ap- 
peared in the several publications of 
Messrs. HARPER & BROTHERS, or in The 
Cosmopolitan Magazine, The YotttFs Companion, 
The Congregationalist, The Christian Intelli- 
gencer, and The Simday-School Times, 



I 



CONTENTS 



Part I— SONGS OF THE EASTER-TIDE 

Page 

EASTER BELLS 3 

AWAKENING .......... 4 

GETHSEMANE 5 

GOOD-FRIDAY 7 

AN EASTER SONG Q 

*'WHO ROSE AGAIN FROM THE DEAD" . II 

THE SPLENDOR OF LILIES I4 

EASTER CHORDS I5 

UNDER THE CLOUD 18 

ANGELS 20 

WHEN SPRING COMES BACK 22 

AN EASTER IDYL 24 

IN THE SHADOW 28 

A DREAM 30 

A WAY-SIDE GRAVE 3 1 



Page 

comfort one another 33 

god's way 35 

easter flowers 37 

Part II— HOME AND HEARTH 
love's kingdom . , 41 

WHEN POLLY PLAYED FOR DANCING . 42 

WEDDED HANDS -44 

THE AMBULANCE -45 

THE HOME-BOUND SHIP 46 

A COQUETTE 47 

CAMP ECHOES 48 

THE REASON 50 

THREE BASKETS 51 

CONVALESCENT 53 

HER LETTER 54 

BON VOYAGE ! 56 

SNOWDROP AND CROCUS 58 

VIOLETS 59 

A CLUSTER OF ROSES TO A FRIEND . . 60 
THE BLOOM OF THE CACTUS .... 62 

INFELIX 64 

DAY BY DAY .66 

THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE 68 



Page 

THE mother's chair 7 1 

THE LETTER SHE DID NOT WRITE . . 73 

THE UNRETURNING 75 

THANKSGIVING 77 

Part III— MILE-STONES 

CHRISTMAS 8l 

AUTUMN PLOUGHING 83 

THE CHRISTMAS ANGELS 85 

HOLLY AND PINE 87 

MISS LUCINDA'S OPINION ..... 89 

OF ALL DEAR DAYS 92 

IN BETHLEHEM 95 

A CHRISTMAS THOUGHT 97 

OCTOBER 99 

A THANKSGIVING FEAST IOC 

GARDENS 103 

AUTUMN DAYS IO5 

THE LOVING-CUP I07 

THE DAYS WHEN NOTHING HAPPENS . IIO 

GOOD-NIGHT. . 112 

THE NEW YEAR II4 

AT THE PARTING OF THE WAYS . . . II6 

THE THINNING RANKS II8 



Part IV— CLOSET AND ALTAR 

JESUS WENT BEFORE 123 

NOT READY 124 

JOINT HEIRS 125 

THE DEAREST ONE . 127 

A SONG OF THE BURDEN BEARER . . 129 

VESPERS 131 

ONE STEP AT A TIME I33 

THE WORD SHE REMEMBERED. . . . I36 

TE DEUM LAUDAMUS ....... I37 

THINE IS THE POWER I39 

A THOUGHT I40 

FOLDED HANDS . I4I 

THE CURTAIN FALLS I43 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



" NEVER YET WAS A SPRING-TIME WHEN 

THE BUDS FORGOT TO BLOW " Frontispiece 

MAIDEN BERTHA Facing p. 52 

"the dear OLD GARDENS . . . WHERE 

MOTHER USED TO POTTER ABOUT" 

Facing p. I04 

**IN THE FIELDS ARE SILENCE AND 

PERFUME " , Facing p. 1 32 



Ipatt H 

SONGS OF THE EASTER-TIDE 



EASTER BELLS 

Chime, solemn bells of Easter! 

The shadows flee away, 
And all the earth is smiling 

In the glory of the day. 

Ring, tender bells of Easter ! 

Beyond our toil and tears. 
There wait for all the faithful 

Heaven's long and happy years. 

Break, joyous bells of Easter ! 

From far across the sea 
Bring us the endless music 

Of immortality. 

Triumphant bells of Easter ! 

Again by angels rung, 
Speak comfort to the sorrowing 

Of every land and tongue. 
3 



Blend, golden bells of Easter ! 

Heaven's fairest and its best, 
To hush earth's clamorous discords 

And soothe earth's sad unrest. 



AWAKENING 

Never yet was a spring-time, 
Late though lingered the snow, 

That the sap stirred not at the whisper 
Of the south wind, sweet and low j 

Never yet was a spring-time 

When the buds forgot to blow. 

Ever the wings of the summer 
Are folded under the mould 5 

Life, that has known no dying, 
Is Love's, to have and to hold, 

Till sudden, the bourgeoning Easter ! 
The song ! the green and the gold ! 



GETHSEMANE 

The dew lay thick on thorn and flower, 
And where the oHves clustered gray 

Weird shapes, within that awesome hour 
Between the midnight and the day, 

Seemed walking phantom-like abroad, 

As if to vex the Son of God. 

And all the city lay asleep, 

O'er beast and bird the spell was cast. 
And nothing stirred the silence deep, 

Save where our Lord the vigil passed ^ 
The long lone vigil when His prayer 
Was uttered from a heart's despair. 

" Oh, watch with me one little hour !'' 
His tender tones had pleading cried 

Unto the faithful three, whose dower 
Of love had kept them near His side. 

Nay — folded hands and drooping head. 

And slumber — quiet as the dead. 
5 



No wonder then for weariness 
The second time they fall asleep, 

He turns in very tenderness, 

And leaves them to repose so deep ; 

Alone He meets the serpent foe, 

Alone He bears the bitter woe. 

Gethsemane ! Gethsemane ! 

We see the glory and the gloom ! 
Through all thy pain and agony, 

Thy garden wears immortal bloom. 
'Twas human friendship failed Him there. 
But Love Divine did hear His prayer. 

Life's bitter cups we too must take, 
Life's bitter bread in anguish eat ,• 

But when our hearts are like to break 
There comes to us a whisper sweet, 

" Fear thou no dim Gethsemane 5 

Thy sleepless Friend will watch with thee!'' 



GOOD-FRIDAY 

Be hushed, my heart, remembering 
What dole was given for thee, 

How pressed on Him thy burden, when. 

For all the sinful sons of men, 
Christ went to Calvary. 

The mournful journey that He made. 

Each step was taken for thee. 
Be hushed, my heart, let clamor cease 5 
Prepare a chamber white with peace. 
His resting-place to be. 

In solemn shadow of the cross, 

O soul, abide till He 
Who tasted death ere thou shouldst know 
Its bitterness of utmost woe 

With strength shall guerdon thee. 
7 



Its Via Dolorosa still 

Each life of earth must see, 
And in some hour, or soon or late. 
Must bend beneath the crushing weight 
Of earth's Gethsemane. 

But heart, in love and prayer look up 

Beyond the awesome tree 5 
The heaven of heavens is reft to-day j 
All angels march the starry way 

That leads from Calvary. 

For conquering, the Lord of life 

(His mighty legions free) 
Goes forward while the ages roll 5 
The price of every ransomed soul 

Full paid on Calvary. 



^ 



AN EASTER SONG 

The golden sun climbs up the sky, 

The shadows flee away, 
Oh ! weary heart, forget to sigh, 

God sends thee Easter Day ! 
Long was the night, chill was the air, 

And grief o'er brooded long, 
Yet is the new world white and fair. 

Uplift thine Easter song ! 

The cross that bowed thee with its weight 

By strength of prayer is stirred, 
Till it shall bear thee soon or late, 

As wings upbear the bird. 
The life that thrills from star to star. 

And beats in leaf and stem. 
Is wider than the heavens are. 

And blesses thee from them. 

Wert thou cast down, wert thou dismayed, 

Dear child of One above. 
Behold the earth in light arrayed, 

The light of deathless love. 
9 



Oh ! listen to the word that wakes 

In every budding flower, 
And take the bread the Master breaks, 

In His triumphant hour. 

Nor feel, dear one whom Jesus saves, 

And heartens day by day, 
That earth is but a place of graves, 

A dim and dolorous wa)^ 
As mothers hush their little ones, 

God puts his own to sleep 5 

And long as time is marked by suns, 
Their beds His angels keep. 

Not once a year alone, but oft 

In all our years of days, 
Shall fall the word or promise, soft 

As hymns the blessed raise. 
If but we bend the listening ear 

To hear upon the strand 
The wave-beat of the endless life. 

Not far, but close at hand. 

For those who hear, and hearing yearn, 
The King hath secrets sweet 5 

Their hearts within them thrill and burn, 
They wait His coming feet. 



Then swift the sun climbs up the sky ! 

The shadows flee away ! 
Oh ! weary heart, forget to sigh, 

God sends thee Easter Day! 



"WHO ROSE AGAIN FROM THE 
DEAD" 

O Earth, forget thy winter j O Nature, bud 
and bloom, 

And clothe the slopes with greenness that 
late were hung with gloom. 

O clustered Easter lilies, your gleaming cen- 
sers lift, 

Forth comes the mighty Victor, the rocky 
tomb to rift. 



O gentle Easter angels, be sw^ift to greet the 

day 
When ftom the guarded chamber the stone 

is rolled away. 
And Christ the King steps onward, with 

Death beneath him dead. 
And leads His ransomed homeward, with 

glory on His head. 



Three days ago they laid Him, all pulseless 

on the bier -, 
The thorn-marked brow was pallid j their 

hearts stood still in fear. 
Three days of solemn stillness, three days of 

grief sublime, 
A pause when seraphs waited to hear the 

throbs of Time. 



And now ? No burst of music, as when a 

babe He came. 
Though heaven is thrilled with rapture, and 

cherub-anthems flame. 
In soundless flight on sweeping, the shining 

ones descend 
To give our earth the key-note or songs 

that shall not end. 



What though there are who listen in vain 

for voices hushed ? 
What though there are who languish o'er 

sweet hopes early crushed ? 
Still peal the Easter chorals adown the lonely 

years, 
And yet the Easter promise hath solace for 

our tears. 



The Christ for us hath conquered our one 

relentless foe, 
Our vanished ones forever with Him are 

safe, we know. 
O fragrant Easter lilies, like tapers fair ye 

stand. 
To light the silent portals that guard the 

deathless land. 

Haste, gentle Easter angels, who rolled the 

stone away. 
Come melt our loveless spirits, shame unbelief 

this day. 
And help us tread it under our footsteps as 

we sing 
The joyous hymns of Easter around our 

risen King. 



THE SPLENDOR OF LILIES 

Oh, rare as the splendor of lilies, 

And sweet as the violet's breath, 
Comes the jubilant morning of Easter, 

The triumph of life over death 5 
And fresh from the earth's quickened bosom 

Full baskets of flowers we bring. 
And scatter their satin soft petals 

To carpet a path for our King. 

In the countless green blades of the meadow, 

The sheen of the daflrbdil's gold. 
In the tremulous blue on the mountains, 

The opaline mist on the wold. 
In the tinkle of brooks through the pasture, 

The river's strong sweep to the sea. 
Are signs of the day that is hasting 

In gladness to you and to me. 

Oh, dawn in thy splendor of lilies. 

Thy fluttering violet breath. 
Oh, jubilant morning of Easter, 

Thou triumph of life over death ! 
Then fresh from the earth's quickened bosom 

Full baskets of flowers we bring. 
And scatter their satin soft petals 

To carpet a path for our King. 
14 



EASTER CHORDS 

Christ the Lord is risen to-day ! 
Sons of men and angels say, 
Raise your joys and triumphs high, 
Sing ye hea<vens, and earth reply. 

Sweet, sweet and clear the dear old strain 
across the aisles is pealing, 

The choir uplifts its stately chords that 
throb with tender feeling, 

For never time as Easter time brings glad- 
ness to our eyes, 

When morning unto evening tells the rapt- 
ure of the skies. 

Lo've'^s redeeming njuork is done, 
Fought the fight, the battle's njuon. 
Lo! the suns eclipse is o'er, 
Lo ! He sets in blood no more. 

Again we read the wondrous tale, how on 

the Cross they bound Him, 
How Jew and Roman jeered and scoffed in 

cruel throngs around Him, 
15 



Till noon forgot its light in gloom and all 

the world grew black, 
While He who came to save us paid the 

price with naught held back. 

Vain the stone, the njjatch, the seal; 
Christ hath burst the gates of hell! 
Death in <vain forbids His rise, 
Christ hath opened Paradise. 

Oh ! listen, thrilling far and loud the Gloria 

strains excelling, 
For death for evermore is dead, triumphant 

shouts are swelling. 
They who have passed beyond the stream 

and reached the other side, 
Exult in life that never ends ; with Christ 

are satisfied. 

Hail, the Lord of earth and hea<ven ! 
Praise to T^hee by both be gi^en! 
nee ^we greet triumphant nonx) ; 
Hail I the Resurrection Thou! 

In solemn joy, in trustful hope, in faith that 

cannot falter, 
This Easter Day we bring our meed of 

praises to God's altar. 
i6 



All crowns are set on Christ's dear head, 
the crown of thorns that wore ; 

Forever and forever more our Saviour we 
adore. 

Oh I risen Lord victorious, oh ! Son of God 

Most High, 
Who for our sins did bear the yoke, who 

came for us to die j 
In Thee we conquer death and hell, in Thee 

we rise and reign ; 
Life throbs to-day victorious in every pulsing 

vein. 

We have no fear, \\q have no doubt, we read 

redemption's story. 
And earth and heaven together meet in 

ecstasies of glory. 



UNDER THE CLOUD 

Under the cloud we pass, 

The cloud that dims our skies, 
The hot tears blur our eyes, 

We enter the cloud, alas ! 

We mourn for our darling gone ; 
For the days that come no more. 
With her laugh at the dear home door j 

We are desolate, being alone. 

We sigh for the might-have-beens. 
For the words we did not say — 
Was it only yesterday? — 

And memory sits and spins 

A web that is like a shroud. 
So thick and dark does it fold, 
Woe for the tale that is told! 

Like children we cry aloud. 

i8 



\i 



For when she was here, and yet 
Our own, for love's sweet grace, 
When the lighting up of her face 

Could banish our dull regret 

And give us surcease from pain, 
We took as a common thing 
(Ah ! there is the sharpened sting) 

The touch, the look, the strain. 

The music and cheer she gave — 
And now she is gone aw^ay, 
Lost into heaven's bright day 5 

And we — plant flowers on her grave. 

Aye, friends, we are under the cloud. 
So w^hite, and chill, and thick. 
And the heart grows faint and sick, 

So fast do our wan thoughts crowd. 

But the cloud has an upper side, 
And somewhere out of the blue 
Our darling is looking through, 

And our sorrow is glorified. 



ANGELS 

In the old days God sent His angels oft 
To men in threshing-floors, to women 
pressed 
With daily tasks ^ they came to tent and 
croft, 
And whispered words of blessing and of 
rest. 

Not mine to guess what shape those angels 
wore. 
Nor tell what voice they spoke, nor with 
what grace 
They brought the dear love down that ever- 
more 
Makes lowliest souls its best abiding place. 

But in these days I know my angels well ; 
They brush my gai*ments on the common 
way. 
They take my hand, and very softly tell 
Some bit of comfort in the waning day. 
20 



And though their angel-names I do not ken, 
Though in their faces human love I read, 

They are God-given to this world of men, 
God-sent to bless it in its hours of need. 

Child, mother, dearest wife, brave hearts that 
take 
The rough and bitter cross, and help us 
bear 
Its heavy weight when strength is like to 
break, 
God bless you all, our angels unaware ! 



WHEN SPRING COMES BACK 

When Spring comes back the violets lift 

Their shyly hooded faces. 
Where late the frozen snows adrift 

Heaped high the woodland spaces. 
When Spring comes back the sunbeams dance 

On green leaves all a-quiver, 
And grasses rally, spear and lance, 

By rippling brook and river. 

When Spring comes back the lilies haste. 

What time the bells are ringing, 
To bring their perfumes, pure and chaste, 

From hallowed censers swinging. 
Shine dim church aisles on Easter day 

Beneath the lilied whiteness. 
And happy children kneel and pray 

Amid the serried brightness. 

When Spring comes back a merry train. 
Of merry wings come with her. 

The robin and the wren again 
Come gayly flitting hither j 



The bluebird and the oriole, 

The martin and the swallow. 
" Away," they chant, " with grief and dole. 

Here's spring, and summer '11 follow !'' 

When Spring comes back, when Spring comes 
back, 

Chill winter will be over ! 
Erelong we'll hear the elfin drums 

Where bees are deep in clover. 
After we catch the swaying lilt 

Of winds among the daisies, 
And see the rose-cups' sweetness spilt 

Among the garden mazes. 



AN EASTER IDYL 

Many a year the Easter came, laughing o'er 
land and sea, 
Wafting the perfume of lilies wherever its 
dawn-light fell, 
Kindling the flames of the roses, and waving 
their torches free, 
Far over hill and mountain, and deep in 
the lonesome dell. 

And many a year at Easter I sat in the old 
church loft, 
And lifted my voice in Te Deums, and 
sang like a mavis clear, 
Sang of glory and triumph, and my voice 
thrilled sweet and soft, 
O ! many a time in the Easter of many a 
cloudless year. 

Till there fell a season of anguish, when the 
stars went out in the sky, 
When I covered my face, and bent my 
knees, and beat with a hopeless prayer 
24 



At the golden gates of heaven that were 
shut to my bitter cry, 
While the Angel of Death at my threshold 
was deaf to my love's despair. 

Then, straight on that wild, bleak winter 
there followed the fairest spring, 
With snowdrops and apple blossoms in 
riotous haste to bloom, 
With the sudden note of the robin, and the 
flash of the bluebird's wing ; — 
And all that was mine of its beauty was 
the turf that covered a tomb. 

O ! the bells rang out for Easter, rang strong 
and sweet and shrill, 
And the organ's rolling thunder pealed 
through the long church aisle. 
And the children fluttered with flowers, and 
I sat mute and still, 
I who had clean forgotten both how to 
pray and to smile. 

And I murmured in fierce rebellion: "There 
is naught that endures below, 
Naught but the lamentations that are rent 
from souls in pain j'' 
25 



And the joy of the Easter music, it struck 
on my ears like a blow, 
For I knew that my day was over, I could 
never be glad again ! 

And then — how it happened I know not — 
there was One in my sight who stood. 
And lo ! on His brow was the thorn-print, in 
His hands were the nails' rough scars. 
And the shadow that lay before Him was 
the shade of the holy rood, 
But the glow in His eyes was deeper than 
the light of the morning stars. 

" Daughter," He said, '* have comfort ! Arise ! 
keep Easter-tide ! 
I, for thy sins who suffered and died on 
the cruel tree, 
I, who was dead, am living j no evil shall e'er 
betide 
Those who, in earth or heaven, are pledged 
unto life with Me/' 

Now I wake to a holier Easter, happier than 
of old. 
And again my voice is lifted in Te Deums 
sweet and strong ^ 
26 



I send it to join the anthem in the wonderful 
city of gold, 
Where the hymns of the ransomed forever 
are timed to the Easter song. 

And I can be glad with the gladness that is 
born of a perfect peace 5 
On the strength of the Strong I am resting j 
I know that His will is best. 
And who that has found that secret from 
darkness has won release, 
And even in sorrow's exile may lift up her 
eyes and be blessed. 



}h 



IN THE SHADOW 

We walk within the shadow, and we feel its 

thickening fold 
That wraps us round and holds us close, a 

cloak against the coldj 
The day is growing sombre, and the joyous 

light has fled. 
And beneath our feet the road is rough, and 

clouds are overhead. 

We sit within the shadow, and in that silence 

dumb, 
To us in softened echoes remembered voices 

come ; 
Dear eyes that closed in slumber once, dear 

hands that straightened lie, 
Awaken tender yearnings as the day wanes 

slowly by. 

We rest within the shadow, though the 

hurrying people go 
On errands swift for gold and gain, beyond 

us, to and fro j 

28 



We have no care for transient things j we 

wish no more to strive 
As once we did 5 we rest, we dream, we feel 

but half aUve. 

Our resting and our waiting, and our plodding 

on the way, 
With the sunshine of the past casting 

darkness on to-day, 
With no caring for the future, while the 

heartache holds us fast, 
With no thought for any pleasure — ah ! 'tis 

w^ell these cannot last. 



For the shadow always lifts, and the sunlight 

glows again j 
There are sudden gleams of brightness, sweet 

clear shining after rain ,• 
And we gird ourselves for action, strengthened 

we arise and go 
From the sanctuary outward, where the feet 

tramp to and fro. 

Life must have its sometime sorrow j but 

the years that drift along 
Touch the minor chords but seldom ,• there 

are spaces blithe with song. 
29 



Sometimes we must face the shadow, where 
the wind blows keen and cold, 

But the shadow fades at dawning, and the 
east is flecked with gold. 



A DREAM 

Some perfect day I shall not need 

To bend my brows o'er baffling tasks 5 

Some perfect day my eyes will read 

The meaning hid 'neath clouding masks 5 

Some perfect day my word and deed 
Will fill the ideal my spirit asks. 

Dear perfect day of days to be. 

Which safe the steadfast heaven doth keep 
Deep filled with love and rest for me. 

Close pressed with sheaves I yet shall reap, 
When they who watch beside me see 

Only that I have fallen asleep. 



A WAY-SIDE GRAVE 

Our upland journey wound Its way 
Past hills that wore the green of May. 

The dogwood starred the shado\\y copse 5 
The light breeze rocked the pine-tree tops. 

Far off we saw the village spires 

And fluttering smoke of household fires. 

But here of voice or tool no sound 
Fell on the cloistered hush profound. 

Sudden I drew my bridle rein, 

Dim, shining out from moss and stain, 

Alone amid a fallow field. 

And half by brier and weed concealed, 

I saw a rough stone cross that bore 
One little dear home name ^ no more. 
31 



Some heart had ached, some house had known 
The desolate hunger for its own, 

When, hollowed out this narrow grave, 
They laid, whom love had died to save 

But could not, one whose name had been 
To her own people "Josephine." 

A ruined chimney, and the bloom 
Of a pale purple lilac plume 

Close by, and this small way-side cross 
Told all the tale of love and loss ,• 

While near and far the fragrant day 
Was golden glimmering with May. 



COMFORT ONE ANOTHER 

Comfort one another ; 

For the way is growing dreary, 

The feet are often weary, 
And the heart is very sad. 

There is heavy burden-bearing. 

When it seems that none are caring, 
And we half forget that ever we were glad. 

Comfort one another 

With the hand-clasp close and tender. 
With the sweetness love can render, 

And the look of friendly eyes. 

Do not wait with grace unspoken ,• 
While life's daily bread is broken, 
Gentle speech is oft like manna from the 
skies. 

Comfort one another 5 

There are words of music ringing 
Down the ages, sweet as singing 
3 33 



Of the happy choirs above. 

Ransomed saint and mighty angel 
Lift the grand, deep-voiced evangel, 
Where forever they are praising the Eternal 
Love. 

Comfort one another; 

By the hope of Him who sought us 
In our peril — Him who bought us. 
Paying with His precious blood ; 
By the faith that will not alter, 
Trusting strength that shall not falter. 
Leaning on the One divinely good. 

Comfort one another ; 

Let the grave-gloom lie behind you, 
While the Spirit's words remind you 
Of the home beyond the tomb. 

Where no more is pain or parting, 
Fever's flush or tear-drops starting. 
But the presence of the Lord, and for all 
His people room. 



GOD'S WAY 

Our way had been to smooth her upward 
road, 

Easing the pressure of each heavy load, 

Never to let her white hand know a soil, 
Never her heart to feel the weight of toil. 

Could we have shielded her from every care, 
Kept her -forever young and blithe and fair, 

And from her body warded every pain. 
As from her spirit all distress and strain, 

This had been joy of joys, our chosen way. 
God led her by a different path 5 each day 

Sorrow and work and anxious care He gave, 
And strife and anguish, till her soul grew 
brave. 

35 



Through weary nights she leaned upon His 

love, 
Through cloudy days she fixed her gaze 

above. 

Her dearest vanished, but in faith and trust 
She knew them safe beyond the perished dust. 

Refined by suffering, like a little child 

She grew ,♦ into her Father's face she smiled. 

And then, one day of days, an angel came ; 
In flute-notes sweet she heard him breathe 
her name. 

Perhaps from out the rifted heaven she saw 
Her mother's face look forth 5 in raptured 
awe 

We caught the last swift glory in her eyes, 
Ere, sleeping here, she woke in Paradise. 

God's way was best, with reverent lips we 

^say, 
God's way is best, and praise our God to-day. 



EASTER FLOWERS 

Blooming to garland Easter, 

White as the drifted snows, 
Are the beautiful vestal lilies, 

The myriad-petaled rose, „ 

Carnations with hearts of fire, 

And the heather's fragrant spray — 
Blooming to garland Easter, ^ 

And strew our King's highway. . 

Late we had gloom and sorrow, • '" 

But the word from Heaven forth 

Has scattered the clouds before it i 

Like a trumpet blown from the north ,• ' 

■ F 

To garland the blithesome Easter, 
And strew the King's highway. 

■ 37 



And east and west and southward ■' ' 

The flowers arise to-day 



Carry the flowers of Easter 

To the darkened house of woe, 
With their message of strength and comfort 

Let the lilies of Easter go j 
Scatter the Easter blossoms 

In the little children's way ^ 
Let want and pain and w^eakness 

Be cheered on our Easter day. 

For lilac, and rose, and bluebell, 

And whatever name they wear. 
The spell of the flowers of Easter 

Is a spell to banish care ,• 
And blooming to garland Easter, 

They will shine in church to-day, 
The lovely things that have awakened 

To deck our King's highway. 



©art II ir 

HOME AND HEARTH 



LOVE'S KINGDOM 

You see no pomp of circumstance, 

No entourage of pride, 
My lowly seeming to enhance 

As I walk by your side. 
All day, at others' beck and call, 

My work obscure is done, 
But off my shabby garments fall 
When comes the set of sun 

You may not know it, friend, but then 

I, walking by your side. 
Am crowned and sceptred, king of men. 

Let none my state deride ; 
For when I turn my own latch-key 

My wife is at the stair, 
The baby claps her hands with glee, 

And I am royal there. 



WHEN POLLY PLAYED FOR 
DANCING 

When Polly played for dancing, 

Her slender fingers flew 
Across the flashing ivory keys 

As if they winked at you. 
The music bubbled under 

The magic of her hand 
As if the very notes were mad 

To join the festive band. 

When Polly struck the measure 

Of two-step or of waltz, 
The oldest there grew young again 
And laughed at time's assaults ,• 
While lovely Sweet and Twenty, 
And happy Sweet Sixteen, 
- Went floating light as thistle-down 
The merry staves between. 
42 



When Polly played the lancers 

You should have seen us bow, 
And weave the figures out and in 5 

Would we were dancing now, 
With Polly playing bravely, 

And all the old set there. 
Till whoM believe 'tw^as midnight by 

The clock upon the stair. 

Then Polly played as gayly 

As the youngest heart can feel, 
And lad and lass we danced amain 

The blithe Virginia reel. 
If Cupid sped his arrow^s. 

Be sure his aim was true. 
When Polly played for dancing, and 

The hours fairly flew. 



WEDDED HANDS 

The year, sweet wife, is on the wane — 

The happy-hearted year, 
That brought us only tithes of pain, 

And rounded sheaves of cheer. 

Beside the glowing embers we 

Need envy no one's pelf 5 
Content am I to partner be 

In firm of " Wife and Self" 

Swift glide away the last low sands. 
Fast fades the hearth-fire's light ^ 

We face the world with wedded hands — 
Good-night, old year, good-night ! 



THE AMBULANCE 

I NEVER see in our bustling town, 

Where the midsummer sun pours fiercely 

down, 
The swift onrush of the ambulance 
But I think of the blessed countenance 
Of One who walked by lane and field, 
And with voice and look the suffering 

healed. 

Still, where the city's woes are thick, 
The dear Christ-spirit heals the sick. 
And yet he lives in the hearts of men, 
And sends his angels with speed again 
Wherever the weary plod and fall. 
His care and tenderness over all. 

And the angels carry lint and lance, 
And drive in the city's ambulance ,• 
Are bluff of speech and deft of hand, 
And quick with accents of command ; 
And the wind of their coming clears the way 
For a breath of heaven in the darkest day. 
45 



I 
I 



THE HOME-BOUND SHIP 

Far out on the stormy ocean 

There's a ship that is faring home, 
Cleaving the great green breakers, 

Parting the curd white foam ^ 
Passing the mighty icebergs, 

Crossing the surging sea, 
The ship that is bringing my dear ones 

Safely back to me. 

Many a ship is sailing 

Forth on the ocean vast ; 
Laden with gold and spices, 

Gallant from deck to mast; 
But only one ship I dream of. 

For only one ship I pray. 
The ship that over the ocean 

Is making her home-bound way. 

'Tis just as were mine the single 

Home out of all the world. 
Just as were mine the only 

Flag to the winds unRirled, 
As over the great green billows, 

Parting the curd white foam, 
I think of the ship that is hasting, 

Bringing my loved ones home. 

46 



A COQUETTE 

I AM never in doubt of her goodness, 

I am always afraid of her mood, 
I am never quite sure of her temper, 

For wilfulness runs in her blood. 
She is sweet with the sweetness of spring- 
time — 

A tear and a smile in an hour — 
Yet I ask not release from her slightest 
caprice, 

My love with the face of a flower. 

My love with the grace of the lily 

That sways on its slender fair stem, 
My love with the bloom of the rosebud, 

White pearls in my life's diadem ! 
You may call her coquette if it please you, 

Enchanting, if shy or if bold, 
Is my darling, my winsome wee lassie, 

Whose birthdays are three, when all told. 



CAMP ECHOES 

" Rally round the flag, boys ! Give it to 
the breeze !" 
Bless the dear old fiddle that wakes the 
gallant air. 
Once we thundered it in chorus like the 
booming of the seas, 
Wives and sweethearts joining in, with an 
" Amen " to the prayer. 

We're a lot of grizzled fellows, not so much 
to look at now ! 
Young and fiill of vigor when the war 
began. 
Some behind the counter, and some behind 
the plough. 
But we rallied for the country, enlisted to 
a man. 

48 



Counting not the cost, boys ! Never sordid 
aims 
Dimmed our record, hasting to the conflict's 
brunt j 
Each to serve the nation, we answered to 
our names, 
And the flag before us, we hurried to the 
front. 



Can't you see it waving, the banner of our 
love, 
Where the Shenandoah loops and twists 
like mad? 
Can't you hear the shouting, the dying 
groans above, 
When we'd w^on a battle, and — lost the best 
we had ? 



Blessings on the music of " Tramp, tramp, 
tramp !" 
How it rang its challenge down the serried 
lines. 
Cheered us when, like hounds a - leash, we 
strained through days in camp. 
Or crashed, with Sherman's storm-cloud, 
through Georgia's solemn pines. 
4 49 



Here, like useless hulks, boys, we doze the 
days away — 
Doze and dream and spin our yarns ; but 
when we come to die, 
Lights out, some true hand for us let " taps '* 
the last time play, 
Then wrap the flag about us in the bed 
where last we lie. 



THE REASON 

Something has changed him j yesterday 
He passed me frowning, scarcely bowed. 

And almost looked the other way, 
A careless stranger in the crowd. 

But now? What grasp of cordial hand! 

What cheery laugh, what genial tone ! 
\Mid eddying throngs we pause and stand 

As if Broadway were ours alone. 

Dear fellow ! One word tells the tale j 
'Tis not the world of yesterday 5 

His heart gives every comrade hail ,• 
His wife is coming home to-day ! 
50 



THREE BASKETS 

Bertha's basket : Maiden Bertha, with the 

merry dancing eyes, 
And the brow whereon a shadow would be 

such a rare surprise — 
What has she within this dainty shell of 

rushes silken-lined, 
Where so many maiden musings innocently 

are enshrined ? 

Gayly mingling ends of worsted j beads that 

glitter silver-bright j 
Fleece of Shetland, light and airy, lying there 

in waves of white 5 
Broidered linen, wrought for pastime in the 

dreamy summer hours 5 
And perhaps a poet's idyl, read amid the 

leaves and flowers. 

Bertha's basket : Mother Bertha. Ah, serener 

light hath grown 
In the thoughtful eyes 5 the forehead hath 

some flitting sorrows known. 
51 



In the larger basket looking, other handiwork 

we find, 
Where the woman's heart its pleasure, love, 

and longing hath enshrined. 

Little aprons 5 little dresses ^ little trousers 

at the knee 
Patched with tender art, that no one shall 

the mother's piecing see ; 
Flannel, worked with skill and patience ; and 

an overflowing store. 
Every size, of little stockings, always needing 

one stitch more. 



Bertha's basket : Grandma Bertha j for the 

years have run their way, 
And it seems in looking backward it was 

only yesterday 
That the maiden tripped so lightly, that the 

matron had her cares — 
Age slips on so gently, gently, like an angel 

unawares. 



Grandma's work is contemplative. With the 

scintillance of steel 
Gleam the needles, smooth with flashing off* 

the toe or round the heel, 
5^ 




MAIDEN BERTHA 



Leisure days have found the lady 5 but her 

face is deeply lined, 
And her heart is as a temple, where are 

hallowed memories shrined. 

As along the dusty high-road rise the mile- 
stones one by one, 

Telling here and there the distance, until 
all the way is done. 

So a woman's basket marks her journey o'er 
the path of life, 

Folding dearest work for others, whether she 
be maid or wife. 



CONVALESCENT 

The fever went at the turn of the night. 
She lies like a lily white and still, 

But her eyes are full of the old love-light ; 
She'll live, if it be God's will. 

God's will had it been to snatch her away, 
We had bowed, we had knelt, we had 
kissed the rod. 
But His own dear will bids our darling stay, 
And we, we just thank God. 
53 



HER LETTER 

She has written her little letter ; 

It was hard enough to do, 
With mistress forever ringing the bell 

Always for something new. 
When the spelling was very uncertain, 

And the v^iting's blotted and slow\ 
But she's written her little letter 

Over the sea to go. 

It will carry her last month's wages — 

A couple of pounds at least. 
It means for the dear home people 

No end of a happy feast. 
A little shawl for her mother, 

And shoes for the baby's feet, 
For the pale-faced ailing sister 

Some delicate things to eat. 

She follows her little letter 

Over the plunging sea. 
She sits again by the smoking peat, 

And leans on her father's knee. 
54 



There are gossiping neighbors calling, 

No end of kith and kin, 
And they laugh and chat and linger 

As their endless tales they spin. 

And it isn't work forever, 

With bells that make one start 5 
And it isn't only the wages — 

It's something tugs at the heart 
And sets her laughing and crying 

As she follows across the sea 
What she wrote at her kitchen-table 

When she had a half-hour free. 



BON VOYAGE! 

To Eastern lands, far-famed in song and 
story, 

These latest pilgrims turn as to a shrine. 
Their faces yearning for the ancient glory 

And fain to catch anew the gleam divine. 

In thought their eyes have caught the heav- 
enly vision. 
As his of old who saw the golden stair 
Which made his pillowing stone a place 
Elysian, 
While to and fro God's angels journeyed 
there. 

Ere many days this world of axe and hammer. 
Of ploughshares cleaving deep a virgin soil. 

Will vanish, with its loud, insistent clamor ; 
And they, with joy of him who findeth 
spoil. 

Will, each in full and overrunning measure, 

Receive the blessing of the early dawn. 
Discern the meanings, reap the sheaves of 
pleasure 
The old life keeps, from our swift heart- 
beats gone. 

56 



Our share who stay at home will be to capt- 
ure 
A reflex gladness, following day by day 
Their happy progress, fancying the rapture 
Of dreams come true, along the hallowed 
way. 

For they, by mount and vale and village 
lowdy, 

By Jordan's river and Gennesaret's wave, 
Will trace the blessed footprints of the Holy, 

And live on earth with Him who came to 



Theirs be the portion of the twelve who 
clustered 
Around the Master, wheresoever He went 5 
Theirs the sweet knowledge of His presence, 
lustred 
By heaven's own light and fulness of con- 
tent. 

Dear friends, our hearts, your company still 
keeping. 
Will overflow in loving prayers for you ! 
God give you ease and safety, waking, sleep- 
ing, 
And bring you home — the pilgrim journey 
through. 

57 



SNOWDROP AND CROCUS 

Long were the wintry days and cold, 
No bloom could pierce the frozen mould, 
Chill blew the gale o'er mount and wold. 

But who remembers frost and snow, 
When sweet to-day the south winds blow. 
And birds are flying to and fro? 

We hear the robin's flute-note clear ,• 

It is the love-tide of the year ; 

Soft shadows play on field and mere. 

A vestal in her garments white, 
The snowdrop gleams in purest light, 
The crocus smiles in jewels dight. 

Dear April, leading on to May, 
Sweet Spring, upon her royal way ! 
No wonder earth is glad to-day. 



VIOLETS 

A FRIEND brought sweetest violets, 
And laid them in my lap to-day, 

And straight the Winter afternoon 
Put on the brightness of the May. 

The silent flowers, with subtle breath, 
Beguiled away my thoughts of pain ,• 

" O heart," their voiceless odor said, 
"Put on thy robes of light again!" 

" For Winter wanes, and Spring returns — 
Dear Spring, when all things lovely shinej 
And hidden ways and cloistered cells 
Grow radiant as with bloom divine. 

"That path cannot be wholly dark 

Which God hath sown with violets : 
Lo ! on the earth, as in the sky, 
For thee His morning star he sets." 



A CLUSTER OF ROSES TO A FRIEND 

Roses, beautiful roses, 

Holding the Summer's light, 
Each in its graceful carven cup, 

Crimson and yellow and white, 
Breathing the sweetest odors. 

Wearing the richest hues, 
Distilled from the clouds of heaven, 

And the heaven-ascending dews. 

Roses, wonderful roses. 

Their texture royally fine. 
Each in its rare completeness 

Wrought by a Hand divine. 
The bud with the moss around it, 

The stem with the steadfast brier. 
What could so comfort the fainting heart. 

So answer its mute desire? 
60 



The roses brought me a blessing, 

For they came in a weary hour, 
And sweet were the thoughts they whispered 

Of one, herself a flower. 
Ever may bloom about her 

The starriest flowers of the morn. 
And still may all her roses 

Be free from the piercing thorn. 

But if the thorns must wound her. 

Since oft, in this life of ours, 
The sharpest suflfering reaches 

Those who have noblest dowers. 
May she rest with trust unchanging 

On the strength of the Friend above, 
And so shall roses and thorns alike 

Be the gifts of His matchless love. 



THE BLOOM OF THE CACTUS 

Rare splendor of scarlet in royalest fashion 
My rich flower wears, as it thrills to the 
shine 
Of the proud sun, who loves such a chalice 
to flash on, 
And pours in its deep heart his nectar 
divine. 

Superbly it greets me, this joyless ascetic, 
So lately whose spiked leaves I fancied to 
wear 
Through slow-waning seasons, a meaning 
pathetic. 
Upheld like the hands of a martyr in 
prayer. 

Lo ! now, for the cross of its standing in 
duty 
So patient, while near it gay neighbors 
were bright, 
It is suddenly crowned with superlative 
beauty, 
Transfigured and wondrous in shimmering 
light. 

62 



In shape rare and perfect, in texture like satin, 
In tint like the ruby reflecting the sun, 

The flowers around it grow pale and look 
flat in 
The arrogant shadow of this haughty one. 

It is as though, lost, all alone and unmated, 
A beggar maid stood in the court of a 
king, 
Unknown 'mid the throngs who there 
clamorous waited, 
Till he saw her, and wooed her with robe 
and with ring. 

And throwing the grace of his mantle above 
her, 
Cried out to the world, " See ! this jewel 
is mine, 
I need her, I yearn for her, crown her and 
love her," 
So blooms my rich flower in the sun's 
golden shine. 



INFELIX 

Who, gazing on thy cradle sleep 

In far sweet days let down from heaven 
(Such days there be to mothers given), 

Had thought of shadows gathering deep. 

Or caught upon the baby brow- 
One faintest sign of furrowing scar, 
One presage of the lurid star 

That overarcs thy pathway now. 

Not love itself had power to rend 
The future's kind opaque away, 
Not love itself had power to stay 

A single dart that fate should send. 

Perchance thine angel watching knew. 
And veiled his face, and hushed his song 
One moment in the radiant throng, 

Ah, God ! what could an angel do, 

64 



Seeing in sinister outline 

The portent of that baleful dross 
That sum of grief and shame and loss, 

Which only angels could divine ? 

Yet, even as infelix I write, 

A mighty wave blots out the word, 
No human cry but God hath heard ! 

No dark but melts in heaven's light! 

And in great ages yet to be, 
The sorrowful tale forever told, 
Thy God Himself His lost shall fold, 

And thine own mother comfort thee. 



DAY BY DAY 

With staff and shoon I journey, 

Up hill the way I take, 
Past many a tangled thicket 

Overgrown with brier and brake ; 
And oft my feet are weary, 

And oft my steps are slow, 
By day by day Fm nearer 

The land to which I go. 

The foes who hate my Master 

Have spread the path with snares, 
In hope to stay my progress 

And catch me unawares. 
But ever to my spirit 

New light and strength are given. 
For never hosts of evil 

Shall bar the road to heaven. 
6G 



Far worse than all temptations 

That lure me from without 
Are grewsome clouds and terrors 

That compass me about. 
Dear Lord, Thine eye can measure 

The strife of fears within, 
And Thou canst guide me safely, 

Unscathed by shame or sin. 

With staff and shoon I journey, 

And still before mine eyes 
The Lord w^ho goes before me 

Holds up a radiant prize. 
And though I faint and falter 

I yet shall overcome. 
And win with saints and angels 

The endless rest at home. 

And sweet it is when tired 

Because the way is long, 
To pause beside a mile - stone 

And lift a pilgrim's song. 
For who* shall lose his courage 

However steep the way. 
Who, wdth the Lord to help him, 

Fares onward day by day ? 



THE OLD SCHOOL -HOUSE 

Set on a rounding hill-top 

And weather-stained and gray, 
The little mountain school-house 

Looks down on the lonesome way. 
No other dwelling is near it, 

'Tis perched up there by itself, 
Like an old forgotten chapel 

High on a rocky shelf. 

In at the cobwebbed windows 

I peered, and seemed to see 
The face of a sweet girl teacher 

Smiling back at me. 
There was her desk in the middle. 

With benches grouped anear. 
Which fancy peopled with children — 

Grown up this many a year. 

Rosy and sturdy children 

Trudging there, rain or shine. 

Eager to be in their places 
On the very stroke of nine. 
68 



Their dinners packed in baskets — 

Turnover, pie, and cake, 
The homely toothsome dainties 

Old-fashioned mothers could make. 



Where did the little ones come from ? 

Fields green with aftermath 
Sleep in the autumn sunshine, 

And a narrow tangled path. 
Creeping through brier and brushwood, 

Leads down the familiar way j 
But where did the children come from 

To this school of yesterday ? 

Oh, brown and freckled laddie 

And lass of the apple cheek, 
The homes that sent you hither 

Are few and far to seek. 
But you climbed these steeps like squirrels 

That leap from bough to bough, 
Nor cared for cloud or tempest, 

Nor minded the deep soft snow. 

Blithe of heart and of footstep 

You merrily took the road, 
Life yet had brought no shadows, 

Care yet had heaped no load. 

69 



And safe beneath lowly roof-trees 
You said your prayers at night, 

And glad as the birds in the orchard 
Rose up with the morning light. 

Gone is the fair young teacher ; 

The scholars come no more 
With shout and song to greet her, 

As once, at the swinging door. 
There are gray-haired men and women 

Who belonged to that childish band. 
With troops of their own around them 

In this sunny mountain land. 

The old school stands deserted 

Alone on the hill by itself, 
Much like an outworn chapel 

That clings to a rocky shelf 
And the sentinel pines around it 

In solemn beauty keep 
Their watch, from the flush of the dawning 

Till the grand hills fall asleep. 



THE MOTHER'S CHAIR 

The century's day had just begun 

When the bride, as shy as a small gray 
mouse, 
Came home one eve at the set of sun, 

To reign a queen in a wee bit house ,• 
A wee bit house, but love was there. 
And its throne was the bride's small rocking- 
chair. 

Time fared along, and the rocking-chair 
Kept pace with the rise and fall of a tune 

That the little mother carolled there. 
Slowly and sweetly, rune and croon, 

Mother and baby and rockaby. 

As the busy and beautiful years flew by. 

And the wee bit house was a crowded nest 
That was left one day for a statelier home. 
But the small chair stood in its place with 
the best. 
Throne for the mother, whoe'er might 
come. 
Babies and babies were cradled there 
In her tender arms in that rocking-chair. 
71 



The years sped on like the waves in a race, 
And small grandchildren fluttered in j 

The dear old hearth was the rallying-place 
For a bevy of youthful kith and kin. 

Always the centre, standing there 

Was the dear little mother's rocking-chair. 

Like sifted snowflakes the days trooped on, 
Till the mother heard the angels call j 

One sunrise broke with the mother gone — 
Only to heaven — that was all. 

But, oh, it was lonely lingering where 

We knelt to her in her little chair. 

And one of the youngest of all the line, 
A gay girl, just out of college, sits 

In that same old chair, and in shade and 
shine 
A look of her great-grandmother flits 

Over her face, so sweet and fair, 

As she rests in the prim little rocking-chair. 



THE LETTER SHE DID NOT WRITE 

It was never set down in black and white, 
The loving letter she did not write 5 
She thought it out as she baked the bread, 
As she mended the stockings and made the 

bed,- 
She wove its beautiful sentences through 
The morning's work that was hers to do 5 
But it never was written with ink and pen, 
For the boys came home from school, and 

then 
She hadn't a chance in black on white 
To scribble the letter she did not write. 

It never was dropped in the corner box 
Which the faithful postman's key unlocks j 
It never was even begun, you see. 
Though it throbbed with a true heart's con- 
stancy 5 
The far-away mother, the friend beloved. 
The kinsman dear, whom it must have 
moved, 

73 



Were touching her hand with tender clasp, 
Were holding her heart in insistent grasp, 
But it never was sent on its blessed flight, 
The dream of a letter she did not write. 

She gave up trying the thing at last, 
When the busy day was almost past, 
Filled with the measure from sun to sun 
Of the woman's work which is never done 5 
The duties sacred which yet seem slight. 
The little wrongs which must be set right. 
She had found her paper and taken her seat, 
When the baby wakened j *' Hush, my 

sweet !"" 
And Freddie brought her a puzzling sum, 
And Teddy deafened her with his drum ; 
No wonder it faded quite out of sight. 
The dear home letter she meant to write. 

But yet, ah, yet were the waves of air 
Not stirred by her tender, wordless prayer ? 
And did not her loving heart, full fain. 
Send out its cry to her own, and pain 
Of longing bring in a subtle way 
A pleasure deep in the waning day. 
When somehow she felt that an answer 

bright 
Had come to the letter she could not write ? 
74 



THE UNRETURNING 

Earth, knowing not eld, in thy youth all 

divine, 
Though the ages unceasing are evermore thine, 
Once more be birth-thrilled, until forth from 

thy womb 
Throng the myriad forms of the world's 

waking bloom. 

For the sweet of the year, great Earth- 
mother, is here, 

And, lo ! on the uplands the flowers appear, 

And blithe is the wing, and the song it is 
glad, 

And our yearning hearts only are heavy and 
sad. 

Earth, mother undying, thy tender arms keep 
So safe in thy bosom the dear things asleep. 
So strong is thy pulse-beat to bid them 

again 
Know battle and conquest, and hunger and 

pain. 

75 



The insistence of growth, the fair crown of 
the leaf, 

The fruit in its ripeness, the rich bending 
sheaf — 

Earth, this thou canst do, yet our dearer 
loves go, 

And return not again from their beds hol- 
lowed low. 

Our hearts are nigh breaking with bliss and 

with dole 5 
In the midst of the rapture, how lonely the 

soul ! 
Comes the bird to the green bough, the bud 

to the tree. 
But not from the dark come my darlings to 

me. 



THANKSGIVING 

What time the latest flower hath bloomed, 

The latest bird hath southward flown ^ 
When silence weaves o'er garnered sheaves 

Sweet idyls in our northern zone ; 
When scattered children rest beside 

The hearth, and hold the mother's hand. 
Then rolls Thanksgiving's ample tide 

Of fervent praise across the land. 

And though the autumn stillness broods 

Where spring was glad with song and stir, 
Though summer's grace leave little trace 

On fields that smiled at sight of her, 
Still glows the sunset's altar fire 

With crimson flame and heart of gold, 
And faith uplifts, with strong desire 

And deep content, the hymns of old. 

We bless our God for wondrous wealth. 
Through all the bright benignant year ^ 

For shower and rain, for ripened grain 3 
For gift and guerdon, far and near. 

11 



We bless the ceaseless Providence 

That watched us through the peaceful 
days, 

That led us home, or brought us thence, 
And kept us in our various ways. 

And if the hand so much that gave 

Hath something taken from our store, 
If caught from sight, to heaven's pure light, 

Some precious ones are here no more. 
We still adore the Friend above. 

Who, while earth's road grows steep and 
dim. 
Yet comforts us, in tender love, 

And holds our darlings close to Him. 

Thanks, then, O God ! From sea to sea 

Let every wind the anthem bear ! 
And hearts be rife through toil and strife, 

With joyful praise and grateful prayer. 
Our fathers' God, their children sing 

The grace they sought through storm and 
sun J 
Our harvest tribute here we bring, 

And end it with, " Thy will be done." 



©art mrir 

MILE -STONES 



CHRISTMAS 

We love to think of Bethlehem, 

That little mountain town 
To which on earth's first Christmas Day 

Our blessed Lord came down j 
A lowly manger for His bed, 

The cattle near in stall. 
There, cradled close in Mary's arms, 

He slept, the Lord of all. 

If we had been in Bethlehem, 

We too had hasted fain 
To see the Babe whose little face 

Knew neither care nor pain. 
Like any little child of ours 

He came unto His own, 
Though Cross and shame before him stretched 

His pathway to His throne. 
6 8i 



If we had dwelt in Bethlehem, 

We would have followed fast, 
And where the Star had led our feet 

Have knelt ere dawn was past. 
Our gifts, our songs, our prayers had been 

An offering, as He lay, 
The Blessed Babe of Bethlehem, 

In Mary's arms that day. 

Now breaks the latest Christmas Morn! 

Again the angels sing. 
And far and near the children throng 

Their happy hymns to bring. 
All heaven is stirred ! All earth is glad ! 

For down the shining way 
The Lord who came to Bethlehem 

Comes yet on Christmas Day. 



AUTUMN PLOUGHING 

More than the beauty of summer 

Is shed on the hills to-day, 
And the fragrant breath of the vintage 

Is borne on the winds away, 
As, father and son together, 

The farmers are guiding the plough j 
Deep and straight is the furrow 

They set in the green earth now. 

"Plough deep,'' is the old man's counsel, 

As they turn the fallow field 
That yet shall laugh with the harvest, 

And wave wqth a golden yield. 
"Plough deep and straight," and the sturdy 

Answer rings back wdth a will, 
As the tilth is ready for sowing 

On the sun-swept reach of hill. 

I watch, and over my spirit 

There wafts an echoed psalm, 
Sweet as a thought of our Father, 

And full of heaven's balm. 



God knows how deep the furrow 

Needed by soul of mine, 
Ere the stony soul shall quicken 

And bloom with fruits divine. 

And God who cares for the vintage 

When the sap is in the stem, 
And God who crowns the summer 

With the autumn's diadem, 
And God who all the winter 

Beholds the world's bread grow. 
May be trusted for loving kindness 

Though his ploughshare lay me low. 



THE CHRISTMAS ANGELS 

Again, as of old, the shadows fold, and the 

midnight sky is clear and cold j 
Again, as when the shepherds watched, the 

peasants sleep with their doors unlatched ; 
Serene and still over vale and hill, over palace 

gateway and cottage sill, 
In snow-white fleece lies the wintry peace, 

and the angels hasten to do God's will. 

Ever they keep above our sleep a vigil tender 

and sweet and deep, 
But they waken us now, fi-om the skies aglow, 

and the sound of their wings goes to 

and fro. 
Hark to the song of that seraph throng, 

who nearest of all to the throne belong. 
Hither they come to heart and home, with 

hail to the right that shall smite the 

wrong. 

85 



Glory to God ! They send abroad harpings 
of heaven on earthly road, 

Lifting the Name on their quivering flame, 
as peace and good-will their notes pro- 
claim. 

Sending afar without a jar, wherever our 
Father's children are. 

The word of grace from the Father's face, 
thrilling in music from star to star. 

Sing to us, angels of Christmas, sing, while 

sweet in the day dawn our glad bells 

ring! 
Sing of the Love that comes from above, 

brooding and soft as the breast of the 

dove. 
While we swift forget the pain and fret, and 

the pitiful things to which life is set. 
And leave at the manger all thought of 

danger, and worship the Child, God's 

children yet. 



HOLLY AND PINE 

When Christmas comes with mirth and 

cheer 
To clasp the circlet of the year, 
Then forth we go for holly and pine, 
Our wreaths of evergreen to twine ,• 
Then swift we trip across the snow, 
To find the gleaming mistletoe, 
And straight and tall and branching free, 
We haste to choose the Christmas-tree. 

When Christmas comes, for Mother and 

Kate, 
All sorts of sweet surprises waitj 
And little fingers thrill with joy 
As pretty gifts their skill employ. 
When Christmas comes each tries her best 
To make it beautiflil for the rest. 
And no one thinks of selfish ease. 
But seeks his neighbor to serve and please. 

87 



When Christmas comes, there is none so poor 
He will turn the beggar from his door 5 
When Christmas comes the rich and great 
Search out their brothers of low estate, 
And the sleigh-bells ring, the church-bells 

chime, 
The children sing in the merry time, 
And smiles and greetings leap to lips, 
That long were set in grief's eclipse, 
For angels of comfort come and go, 
Within the Yule-Log's radiant glow. 

When Christmas comes, I think again, 
Heaven stoops to wish good- will to men, 
And God, who loves this earth of ours, 
With love once more the whole earth 

dowers j 
And the Babe who slept on Mary's knee. 
Once more brings peace to you and me j 
And storms may beat, and the winds be 

wild, 
But the lowly mother, the Holy Child, 
As in the manger, charm us yet. 
All strife and evil our souls forget, 
And each believing worshipper 
Brings gold and frankincense and myrrh. 
And the tongues of hate are hushed and 

dumb. 
When again the Christmas angels come. 



MISS LUCINDA'S OPINION 

But why do I keep Thanksgiving? — 

Did I hear you aright, my dear? 
Why ? When Fm all alone in life. 

Not a chick nor a child to be near j 
John's folks all away in the West, 

Lucy across the sea. 
And not a soul in the dear old home 

Save a little bound girl and me? 

It does look lonesome, I grant it ^ 

Yet strange as the thing may sound, 
I'm seldom in want of company 

The whole of the merry year round — 
There's spring when the lilac blossoms, 

And the apple-trees laugh in bloom. 
There's summer when great moths flit and 
glance 

Through the twilight's star-lit gloom. 

89 



Then comes the beautiful autumn, 

When every fragrant brier, 
Flinging its garlands on fence and wall, 

Is bright as living fire 5 
And then the white, still winter time, 

When the snow lies warm on the wheat, 
And I think of the days that have passed 
away. 

When my life was so young and sweet 

Fm a very happy woman 

To-day, though my hair is white. 
For some of my troubles IVe overlived. 

And some I keep out of sight. 
Fm a busy old woman, you see, dear. 

As I travel along life's road, 
Fm always trying as best I can 

To lighten my neighbor's load. 

That child? You should think she'd try 
me ? 
Does she earn her bread and salt ? 
YouVe noticed she's sometimes indolent, 

And indolence is a fault,- 
Of course it is, but the orphan girl 

Is growing as fast as she can. 
And to make her work from dawn till 
dark 
Was never a part of my plan. 
90 



I like to see the dimples 

Flash out on the little face, 
That was wan enough, and still enough, 

When first she came to the place. 
I think she'll do, when she's older ,♦ 

A kitten is not a cat. 
And now that I look at the thing, my 
dear, 

I hope she'll never be that. 

I'm thankful that life is peaceful 5 

I should just be sick of strife. 
If, for instance, I had to live along 

Like poor Job Slocum's wife 5 
I'm thankful I didn't say "yes," my dear, 

thankful as I can be. 
When Job, with a sprig in his button-hole, 

Once came a-courting me. 

I'm thankful I'm neither poor nor rich, 

Glad that I'm not in debt • 
That I owe no money I cannot pay. 

And so have no call to fret. 
I'm thankful so many love me. 

And that I've so many to love, 
Though my dearest and nearest have gone 
before 

In the beautiful home above. 
91 



( 



1 



ril always keep Thanksgiving 

In the good, old-fashioned way, 
And think of the reasons for gratitude 

In December, and June, and May, 
In August, November, and April, 

And the months that come between ; 
For God is good, and my heart is light, 

And rd not change place with a queen. 



OF ALL DEAR DAYS 

Of all dear days is Christmas day 

The dearest and the best ; 
Still in its dawn the angels sing 

Their song of peace and rest. 
And yet the blessed Christ-Child comes 

And w^alks the shining way, 
Which brings to simple earthly homes 

Heaven's light on Christmas day. 

Then, deep in silent w^oods, the trees — 
The hemlock, pine, and fir — 

Thrill to the chilly winter breeze. 
And waft a breath of myrrh j 
92 



And far and near Kriss Kringle's bells 

Their airy music shake, 
And dancing feet of boys and girls 

A sweeter joyance make. 



The Christ-Child came to Bethlehem, 

To Mary's happy breast, 
And found within her brooding arms 

A warm encircling nest. 
And many a tiny cherub child 

In mother's arms to-day 
Smiles like the Christ, the undefiled, 

On this dear Christmas day. 

The Christ-Child's mother dimly saw 

The cross in faint outline 
Above the baby face that held 

Her own in awe divine. 
Thus over little cradle-beds 

The sacred passion-flower 
Its purple sign of sorrow spreads 

In love's ecstatic hour. 



To Mary's feet the Wise Men brought 
Their gifts of gold and spice 5 

The "Gloria" swept the midnight skies 
To greet her Pearl of Price. 
93 



I 



( 



And down the ladder of the stars, 

Across the shining way, 
The angels watched the Christ-Child come 

That first dear Christmas day. 

Of all dear days is Christmas day 

The very dearest dear. 
The crown and clasp and topmost sheaf 

Of all the joyful year. 
Then dancing feet of boys and girls 

Go gayly to and fro, 
And " Merry, merry Christmas '' rings 

In all the winds that blow. 



IN BETHLEHEM 

Come back to-day to Bethlehem, 

The year is on the wane, 
A truce to strife that wearies life, 

A truce to grief and pain. 
Oh, heart return to Bethlehem 

And hear its song again! 

If siren voices luring thee 

Have turned thy thoughts aside. 

If thou hast quaffed the bitter draught 
Of envy or of pride, 

If thou in agony of shame 
Hast thy dear Lord denied, 

Come back to-day to Bethlehem, 
All in the quickening dawn, 

With wistful eyes regard the skies 
Ere yet the gloom is gone. 

Oh, list the song of Bethlehem 
Forever pealing on ! 
95 



Oh, burdened with the weight of sin. 

And worn with many a care, 
Here drop thy load, the sunrise road 

Is open at thy prayer. 
Return, return to Bethlehem, 

The angels wait thee there ! 

Come back, come back to Bethlehem ! 

Behold the Virgin's Child 
By prophets told in ages old, 

The fair, the undefiled! 
Lo, peace is born in Bethlehem 

To soothe earth's tumults wild. 

Gome back to-day to Bethlehem ! 

Though thou hast wandered far, 
No rest shall fill thy yearning breast 

Until thou see the Star. 
Oh, heart return to Bethlehem 

Where yet the angels are ! 



A CHRISTMAS THOUGHT 

The sweetest gift the Father's love 

Sent ever down to men 
Came in the stillness and the dark 

That thrilled to music when 
All suddenly the hills grew bright 

And flamed athwart the sky 
(A rift of heaven across the night) 

The glory from on high. 

Strong angels swept their hearts of fire 

And sang of peace to men j 
The w^ondering shepherds heard in awe 

And took their pathway then 
Along the hills by crag and steep 

To find the mother-maid, 
In whose glad arms that wintry night 

God's gift of gifts w^as laid. 

All heaven was in sw^et Mary's heart, 

The Babe had brought it her. 
She did not think it strange to see 

The frankincense and myrrh. 
The shining gold, the sages gave, 

As poured beneath a throne, 
In honor of the kingly one, 

That hour her very own. 
7 97 



So helpless, yet so beautiful. 

Heaven's gift, the undefiled, 
Earth's proudest and earth's lowliest 

Bowed down before the Child. 
And back to heaven the angels went 

Whose songs had cleft the night. 
And Bethlehem's star was lost amid 

The morning's rapturous light. 

Heaven's royal gift to earth that day. 

Heaven's gift of life and love, 
Was just a helpless little child 

A mother bent above. 
Worth more than ransom ever paid, 

In weight of gold or gem, 
The child who came to ransom us — 

The Babe of Bethlehem. 

And, aye, in many an earthly home 

God's sweetest gift and best 
Is still a little child who sleeps 

Upon a mother's breast. 
And over every cradled head 

The angels sing to-day, 
With something of the sweetness once 

That thrilled the Bethlehem way. 



OCTOBER 

We are drinking the wine of the ages 
From cups that are brimming over 

With the sweet of a honey imbought with 
money, 
Distilled from the heart of the clover. 

The fathomless blue of the heaven, 
The beauty and bloom of the day, 

Are making us young, — they are waking the 
tongue 
Of the years that have passed away. 

'Tis the radiant, rare October, 

With the clusters ripe on the vine. 

With scents that mingle in spicy tingle 
On the hill slope's glimmering line. 

And summer's a step behind us. 

And autumn's a thought before, 
And each fleet, sweet day that we meet on 
the w^ay 
Is an angel at the door. 
99 



A THANKSGIVING FEAST 

We two are the last my daughter ! 

To set the table for two, 
Where once we had plates for twenty, 

Is a lonesome thing to do. 
But my boys and guls are scattered 

To the east and the west afar, 
And one dearer than even the children 

Has passed through the gates ajar. 

Fm wanting my bairns for Thanksgiving. 

I thought last night as I lay 
Awake in my bed and watching 

For the breaking of the day, 
How my heart would leap in gladness 

If a letter should come this morn 
To say that they could not leave us here 

To keep the feast forlorn ! 

Samuel, my son in Dakota, 

Is a rich man, as I hear, 
And he'll never let want approach us. 

Save the wanting of him near 5 



While Jack is in San Francisco, 

And Edward over the sea, 
And only my Httle Jessie 

Is biding at home with me. 

And I feel like poor Naomi 

When back to her own she went, 
And they said, " Is this Naomi ?" 

She well knew what they meant. 
IVe stayed, and the lads have wandered, 

And the time that was swift to go 
When I was brisk and busy 

Is laggard and dull and slow. 

O ! the happy time for a mother 

Is w^hen her bairns are small, 
And into the nursery -beds at night 

She tucks her darlings all 5 
When the wee ones are about her, 

With gleeful noise and cry. 
And she hushes the tumult with a smile, 

Her brood beneath her eye. 

But a mother must bear her burden 

When her babes are bearded men, 
On 'change and in the army. 

Or scratching away with a pen 
In some banker's dusty office. 

As Martin is, no doubt — 
A mother must bear her burden. 

And learn to do without. 



I know the Scripture teaching, 

To keep the halt and blind, 
And the homesick and the desolate, 

At the festal hour in mind. 
Of the fat and the sweet a portion 

I'll send to the poor man's door 5 
But I'm wearying for my children 

To sit at my board once more. 

I tell you, Jessie, my darling. 

This living for money and pelf — 
It takes the heart from life, dear, 

It robs a man of himself. 
This old bleak hill-side hamlet. 

That sends its boys away. 
Has a right to claim them back, dear. 

On the fair Thanksgiving day. 

Shame on my foolish fretting ! 

Here are letters, a perfect sheaf j 
Open them quickly, dearest ! 

Ah me, 'tis beyond belief! 
By ship and train they're hasting, 

Rushing along on the way. 
Tell the neighbors all my children 

Will be here Thanksgiving day. 



GARDENS 

The wide, fair gardens, the rich, lush gardens, 
Which no man planted, and no man tills • 
Their strong seeds drifted, their brave bloom 
lifted, 
Near and far over vales and hills ^ 
Sip the bees from their cups of sweetness, 

Poises above them the wild free wing, 
And night and morn from their doors are 
borne 
The dreams of the tunes that blithe hearts 
sing. 

The waving gardens, the fragrant gardens, 

That toss in the sun by the broad high- 
way, 
Growing together, gorse and heather, 

Aster and golden-rod all the day. 
Poppies dark with the wine of slumber. 

Daisies bright with the look of dawn. 
The gentian blue, and the long year through 

The flowers that carry the seasons on. 
103 



The dear old gardens, the pleasant gardens 

Where mother used to potter about, 
Tying and pulling, and sparingly culling, 

And watching each bud as its flower 
laughed out ; 
Hollyhocks here, and the prince's feather. 

Larkspur and primrose, and lilies white, 
Sweet were the dear old-fashioned gardens 

Where we kissed the mother and said 
" Good-night." 




^t£f,^*<;2* 




"The dear old gardens . . . 

Where mother used to potter about '' 



AUTUMN DAYS 

Into the cup of our life to-day 
What sweet, what spice is poured, 

When every step of the common way 
Is a garden of the Lord, 

With the golden lights and the purple shades 
Blending in rich accord. 

As soon might we count the star beams 
Or the sand on the shifting shore. 

As number the flowers that baffle 
Desire with more and more, 

As if heaven had opened her windows 
And rained them out of her store 

By swamp and field and meadow, 
On the edge of the mountain brook. 

By the worn old fence and the hedge-row, 
In the tiniest hidden nook — 

Flowers in royal splendor 

Wherever you chance to look. 
105 



And the zest of the autumn noontide. 
The crisp of the autumn night, 

The feeling of rest after labor, 
The wonderful crystal light, 

It is joy of joys to be living 

With the year at its crowning height. 

Thank God for the beauty broadcast 

Over our own dear landj 
Thank God, who, to feed His children, 

Opens His bounteous hand ^ 
Thank God for the lavish harvests, 

Thank Him from strand to strand. 



THE LOVING-CUP 

'Tis the time of year for the loving-cup 

To pass from hand to hand, 
When the sounds of wassail and revelry 

Are echoing o'er the land. 
For North, where the skater skims the mere, 

And South, where the redbird sings, 
A pulse of cheer to the waning year 

The merry Christmas brings. 

'Tis the time of the year for the open hand 

And the tender heart and true, 
When a rift of Heaven has cleft the skies, 

And the saints are looking through. 
The flame leaps high where the hearth was 
drear, 

And sorrowful eyes grow bright, 
For a message dear that all may hear 

Is borne on the Christmas light. 
107 



'Tis the time of year for the cordial word 

And the grace of the Hfted Joad, 
For brother to come to brother's help 

On the rough and stony road. 
'Tis the time to bury the ancient grudge, 

And to make the quarrels up ,• 
No hate has room where the roses bloom 

'Round the Christmas loving-cup. 



'Tis the time of year for children's joy. 

And all in a scarlet row 
The stockings hang in the ingle nook, 

And the dreaming faces glow. 
And the children turn and laugh in sleep, 

To-morrow will be so gay j 
For there never is mirth in this queer old 
earth, 

Like the mirth of Christmas day. 



'Tis the time of year for the loving-cup, 

When the holly berries shine. 
And with shout and song of man and maid, 

The cedar and fir we twine. 
Ah ! pass the cup from the frozen North 

To the South, where the robin sings, 
For a pulse of cheer to the waning year 

The merry Christmas brings. 
io8 



'Tis the time of year for the sweet surprise, 

For the blessing we did not see, 
Though straight from the infinite love of 
God 

'Twas coming to you and me. 
'Tis the time for seeking once again 

The sheen of the Bethlehem star 5 
And for kneeling fain, with the age-long 
train, 

Where the Babe and Mary are. 



THE DAYS WHEN NOTHING 
HAPPENS 

For the days when nothing happens, 

For the cares that leave no trace, 
For the love of little children, 

For each sunny dwelling-place, 
For the altars of our fathers. 

And the closets where we pray, 
Take, O gracious God and Father, 

Praises this Thanksgiving day. 

For our harvests safe ingathered. 

For our golden store of wheat, 
For the cornlands and the vinelands, 

For the flowers up-springing sweet. 
For our coasts from want protected. 

For each inlet, river, bay. 
By Thy bounty full and flowing. 

Take our praise this joyful day. 

For the dangers to the Nation 

Warded hence by sovereign love. 
For the country, strong and hopeful, 
Songs arise to God above. 



Never people called and chosen 
Had such loving-kindness shov^^n 

As this people, God-defended ! 
Therefore, praises to the throne! 

For our dear ones lifted higher 

Through the darkness to the light. 
Ours to love and ours to cherish 

In dear memory, beyond sight, 
For our kindred and acquaintance 

In Thy heaven who safely stay. 
We uplift our psalms of triumph. 

Lord, on this Thanksgiving day. 

For the quiet, uneventful, 

Blessed progress of our lives. 
For the love of friends and neighbors, 

Parents, children, husbands, wives. 
For the ever-present knowledge 

That our Saviour is our own, 
On this day of glad Thanksgiving 

Praises rise to reach the throne. 

For the hours when heaven is nearest 

And the earth-mood does not cling. 
For the very gloom oft broken 

By our looking for the King, 
By our thought that He is coming. 

For our courage on the way. 
Take, O Friend, unseen, eternal. 

Praises this Thanksgiving day. 
Ill 



GOOD -NIGHT 

Good-night, sweet year, that brought to me 

Dear friends to love, rare wealth to hold, 
That gave me flowers for memory 

More precious far than fleeting gold. 
Good-night, sweet year, wherein I read 

Full many a page with rare delight , 
Thy latest hour will soon have fled 

Oh, pleasant year, sweet year, good-night ! 

Good-night, sad year, that reft away 

Some hopes I cherished ,• gave the pain 
Of disillusion 5 dimmed the day 

With wrecks of labor wrought in vain. 
Good-night, sad year, that sometime knew 

My pillow wet with bitter tears, 
Good-night, sad year, that drifteth too 

Far hence on Time's black sea of years. 
112 



Good-night, blithe year, that to the home 

Came smiling with so gay a face. 
Bade roses bloom in hall and room, 

Sent small feet pattering through the place, 
That woke such bells of melody 

As touch the eternal chords that ring 
Where evermore the ransomed be 

And saints for aye behold the King. 

Good-night, brave year, that gave me strength, 

And helped my will to overcome 
In struggles, where the foe, at length 

Baffled and beaten, left me dumb, 
Yet thrilling with victorious song! 

Good-night, brave year ! I fain would keep 
Thy secret still to right the wTong, 

But thou art we3Xj. Rest and sleep. 

Good-night, O year, most sorrowful 

Seen from the earth side, ache and loss 
And clouded dawns, and dear ones gone, 

Have deeply stamped thee with the cross. 
Good-night, O sorrov^rful, sweet year. 

Sweet with the promise of the day. 
Where heaven's own morning shall appear 

And all the shadows flee away. 
8 



THE NEW YEAR 

The clock struck twelve in the tall church 
tower, 
And the old year slipped away, 
To be lost in the crowd of phantom years 
In the House of Dreams that stay 
All wrapped in their cloaks of gray. 

Then swift and sweet o'er the door's worn 
sill 
Came the youngest child of Time, 
With a gay little bow and a merry laugh, 
And a voice like bells achime, 
Challenging frost and rime. 

He found there was plenty for him to do, 

The strong and the weak were here, 
And both held out their hands to him 
And gave him greetings dear, 
The beautiful young new year. 
114 



"You must bring us better days," they said, 

"The old year was a cheat." 
Which I think was mean when the year 
was dead j 
Such fate do dead years meet, 
To be spurned by scornful feet! 

" I bring you the best a year can bring," 

The new-comer stoutly spake, 
" The chance of work, the gift of trust, 

And the bread of love to break, 
If but my gifts you'll take !" 

The noblest thing a year can lay 

In the lap of you or me. 
The brave new year has brought this day — 

It is Opportunity, 

Which the wise are swift to see. 



AT THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 

"Go forth in thy turn/"' said the Lord of 
the years to the year we greet to-day — 

"Go forth to succor my people, who are 
thronging the world's highway. 

" Carry them health and comfort, carry them 

joy and light. 
The grace of the eager dawning, the ease 

of the restful night. 

"Take them the flying snowflake, and the 
hope of the hastening spring, 

The green of the leaf unrolling, the gleam 
of the bluebird's wing. 

" Give them the gladness of children, the 

strength of sinew and nerve. 
The pluck of the man in battle, who may 

fall, but will never swerve. 
ii6 



" Send them the lilt of the singer, the sword 

that is swift to smite 
In the headlong rush of the onset, w^hen the 

wrong resists the right. 

" Pour on them peace that crowneth hosts 

which have bravely striven. 
Over them throw the mantle they wear who 

are God-forgiven. 

" Shrive them of sin and of blunders j oh, 

make my people free ! 
Let this year among years be thought of as 

a time of jubilee, 

" Throbbing with notes triumphant, waving 

with banners fair, 
A year of the grace of the Highest, to 

vanquish human despair. 

"For sorrow and sighing send them, O Year, 

the dance of mirth. 
And banish the moan and the crying from 

the struggling, orphaned earth. 

" Go forth in thy turn, O blithe New Year," 
said the Lord of the passing days 5 

And the angels in heaven heard Him, and 
lifted a paean of praise. 
117 



THE THINNING RANKS 

The day grows lonelier j the air 

Is chillier than it used to be. 
We hear about us everywhere 

The haunting chords of memory. 
Dear faces once that made our joy 

Have vanished from the sweet home band, 
Dear tasks that were our loved employ 

Have dropped from out our loosened hand. 

Familiar names in childhood given 
None call us by, save those in heaven. 
We cannot talk with later friends 
Of those old times to which love lends 
Such mystic haze of soft regret ; 
We would not, if we could, forget 
The sweetness of the by-gone hours, 
So priceless are love's faded flowers 5 
118 



But lonelier grows the waning day, 
And much we miss upon the way 
Our comrades who have heard the call 
That soon or late must summon all. 



Ah, well ! the day grows lonelier here. 
Thank God, it doth not yet appear 
What thrill of perfect bliss awaits 
Those who pass on within the gates. 
Oh, dear ones who have left my side, 
And passed beyond the swelling tide, 
I know that you will meet me when 
I, too, shall leave these ranks of men 
And find the glorious company 
Of saints from sin forever free, 
Of angels who do always see 
The face of Christ, and ever stand 
Serene and strong at God's right hand. 



The day grows lonelier, the air 

Hath waftings strangely keen and cold, 
But woven in, O glad, O rare. 

What love-notes from the hills of gold ! 
Dear crowding faces gathered there, 

Dear blessed tasks that wait our hand, 
What joy, what pleasure shall we share. 

Safe anchored in the one home-land. 
"9 



Close up, O comrades, close the ranks. 
Press onward, waste no fleeting hour! 

Beyond the outw^orks, lo! the banks 

Of that full tide, where life hath power, 

And Satan lieth underfoot. 

And sin is killed, even at the root. 

Close up, close fast the wavering line. 

Ye who are led by One divine. 

The day grows lonelier apace, 

But heaven shall be our trysting-place. 



Ipart mt) 

CLOSET AND ALTAR 



JESUS WENT BEFORE 

Their faces to Jerusalem, 

They stepped with laggard feet. 
Half timorous, defiant half, 

At what they went to meet. 
But as they rested, or they talked 

Their sad forebodings o'er. 
Still leading on the little band, 

Their Master went before. 

He saw in vision maddened throngs j 

He saw the crowded hall 
Where scribe and priest should mock and flout. 

Where cruel scourge should fall j 
He saw the cross 5 its shadows lay 

The toilsome pathway o'er 5 
But, pressing on with ardent soul, 

The Master went before. 

To-day Thy pledged disciples, Lord, 

Meet sorrow, pain, and shame, 
Their watchword in the trial time 

Thine own all-conquering name. 
Though flesh be weak, and spirit faint. 

And heart be spent and sore, 
They cannot fail in any strife 

While Thou shalt go before. 
123 



In presence of Thy bitter foes, 

In midst of dark defeat, 
They yet shall snatch a victory 

And taste a triumph sweety 
Nor death itself shall crush them. Lord. 

Its final conflict o'er. 
The ransomed hosts shall shout and sing, 

" Our Master went before !" 



NOT READY 

Out of our pain and struggle, 

Up from our grief and dole, 
We are swift to cry to the Healer 

For the touch that makes us whole. 

Alas ! we are not so ready. 

In the day of our joy and crown, 

With the palms and the fragrant incense 
Laid at His altar down. 

And how it must grieve the Master 
That His own are so slow to praise. 

In the flush of their peace and gladness. 

The goodness which brims the days! 

124 



JOINT HEIRS 

There came a precious meaning 

Into the Word to-day — 
A waft of sweetness from the land 

That is not far away, 
A thought so pure, so high, so strong. 

That in my lonely lot 
I kept the measure of a song, 

A song where pain is not. 

Joint heirs with Christ the Blessed, 

The Father's equal Son, 
So lifted into equal place 

With that beloved One, 
So given rights of sonship 

Before the Father's face, 
So made the heir of all things. 

By Heaven's m^ost royal grace. 

Not as the younger children 

Who forth from home may fare. 

But as the iirst-born of the line 
The birthright I shall share. 
125 



In the presence of the Father, 

Uplifted by the Son, 
I shall be loved as Christ is loved. 

And dwell anear His throne. 

Dear thought that bids me cherish 

To-day the hidden name 
Which will be mine when Jesus 

His own shall come to claim 5 
Dear hope that casts its glory, 

A charm o'er daily care. 
And gives me joy and freedom 

Oft as I kneel in prayer. 

Joint heir with Christ the Blessed, 

The Christ-life mine to live, 
And every day some sacrifice 

Of mine own will to give : 
Some trial to endure for Him, 

Some brother's load to ease, 
Or in the quiet home routine 

Some little child to please. 

Joint heir with Christ in heaven, 

Joint heir with Christ on earth. 
Made equal in the Father's sight, 

Divinely dowered in birth. 
A waft of precious meaning 

Comes floating from that word, 
A harp note from the ceaseless strain 

By saints and angels heard. 
126 



THE DEAREST ONE 

Oh ! which of all my dearest dear is most 

my very own ? 
Whom do I pray for oftenest when kneeling 

at the throne r 
'Tis not the one whose earthly cup is 

brimmed with gift and grace, 
Nor yet the one w^hose winsome heart looks 

from the bonniest face 5 
The dearest dear of all mine own is one in 

greatest need, 
The one whose burden heaviest weighs, 

whose path is rough indeed. 
For him I claim the help of Heaven, for him 

I cling about 
The cross of the All-pitifiil till flesh and 

strength give out ,• 
And still it is the neediest for whom I 

plead and pray. 
What time I bring my dearest dear to Christ 

at fall of day. 

127 



If, all imperfect as I am, thus love doth 

reign in me. 
How better far, and truer far, must Christ 

the shepherd be, 
Whose greater love hath largesse for the 

w^eakest of his own— 
Who, by the hunger and the thirst, the 

faintness and the moan. 
Doth measure still the bounty that, outflowing 

day by day, 
Uplifts and helps the weary one who stum- 

bleth in the way. 
Dear Love, sweet Love, thy dearest dear, 

'tis he who most hath need. 
Whose want and weakness are his prayer, 

and without word can plead. 



A SONG OF THE BURDEN BEARER 

Over the narrow footpath 

That led from my lowly door, 
I went with a thought of the Master, 

As oft I had walked before ^ 
My heart was heavily laden, 

And with tears my eyes were dim, 
But I knew I should lose the burden 

Could I get a glimpse of Him. 

Over the trodden pathway. 

Through the fields all shorn and bare, 
I went with a step that faltered, 

And a face that told of care ; 
I had lost the light of the morning, 

With its shimmer of sun and dew. 
But a gracious look of the Master 

Would the strength of morn renew. 

9 129 



While yet my courage wavered, 

And the sky before me blurred, 
I heard a voice behind me 

Saying a tender word j 
And I turned to see the brightness 

Of heaven upon the road, 
And suddenly lost the pressure 

Of the weary, crushing load. 

Nothing that hour was altered, 

I had still the weight of care, 
But I bore it now with the gladness 

Which comes of answered prayer ^ 
No grief the soul can fetter 

Nor cloud its vision, when 
The dear Lord gives the spirit 

To breathe to His will, Amen. 



VESPERS 

I LEAVE the city behind me, 

Shaking its dust from my feet j 
Leaving its thunder and roar of trade, 

I haste to the covert sweet, 
Where from the elm-boughs arching. 

As in long cathedrals dim, 
Through the hush of the lingering twilight 

The thrushes sing a hymn. 

In the town were hurry and bustle. 

And squalor and sin were there, 
And the trail of the worship of Mammon, 

And the burden of strenuous care. 
In the fields are silence and perfume. 

And one may kneel and pray 
In the calm and cloistered forest 

At the tender fall of day. 
The birds go flying homeward 

To the nest in the tree-tops dim. 
And the vespers die into stillness — 

The thrush has finished his hymn. 
131 



Oh, beautiful lanes, I love you 

As you skirt the babbling brooks, 
As you seek the foot of the mountain, 

As you find the hidden nooks. 
Where the ferns in great green masses 

The edge of the swamp-land rim. 
Where I linger till stars awake above 

And the thrushes sing their hymn. 




*' In the fields are silence and perfume " 



ONE STEP AT A TIME 

There's a mine of comfort for you and me 

In a homely bit of truth 
We were tenderly taught, at the mother's 
knee, 

In the happy days of youth. 
It is, what though the road be long and 
steep, 

And we too weak to climb, 
Or, what though the darkness gather deep, 

We take one step at a time. 

A single step and again a step. 

Until, by safe degrees, 
The mile-stones past, we win at last 

Home when the King shall please. 
And the strangest thing is often this : 

That the briery, tangled spots 
Which cumber our feet are thick and sweet 

With our Lord's forget-me-nots. 
133 



It matters little the pace we take 

If we journey sturdily on, 
With the burden bearer's steady gait, 

Till the day's last hour is gone, 
Or if with the dancing foot of the child. 

Or the halting step of age. 
We keep the goal in the eye of the soul 

Through the years of our pilgrimage. 



And yet in the tramp of appointed days 

This thing must sometimes be, 
That we falter and pause and bewildered 
gaze, 

For the road has led to the sea. 
And the foeman's tread is on our track, 

As once on the booming coast 
Where the children of Israel, looking back, 

Saw Pharaoh's threatening host. 



Then clear from the skies our Leader's voice, 

" Go forward," bids us dare 
Whatever we meet with fearless feet 

And the might of trustful prayer. 
So, ever advancing day by day. 

In the Master's strength sublime, 
Even the lame shall take the prey, 

Marching a step at a time. 
134 



And what of the hours when hand and foot 

We are bound and laid aside, 
With the fevered vein, and the throbbing 
pain, 

And the world at its low ebb-tide? 
And what of our day of the broken heart. 

When all that our eyes can see 
Is the vacant space, where the vanished face 

Of our darling used to be ? 

Then, waiting and watching, and almost 
spent. 

Comes peace from the Lord's own hand, 
In His blessed will, if we rest content. 

Though we cannot understand. 
And we gather anew our courage and hope 

For the road so rough to climb ; — 
With trial and peril we well may cope, 

A single step at a time. 



THE WORD SHE REMEMBERED 

" You remember the sermon you heard, my 
dear ?" 
The little one blushed and dropped her 
eyes, 
Then lifted them bravely, with look of 
cheer — 
Eyes that were blue as the summer skies. 

" Fm afraid I forgot what the minister said, 
He said so much to grown-up men, 

And the pulpit was 'way up over my head 5 
But I told mamma that he said ' Amen.' 

" And * Amen,' you know, means ' Let it 
be,' 
Whatever our Lord may please to do. 
And that is sermon enough for me. 

If I mind and feel so, the whole week 
through." 

I took the little one's word to heart, 
I wish I could carry it all day long, 

The "Amen" spirit, which hides the art 
To meet each cross with a happy song. 
136 



TE DEUM LAUDAMUS 

We praise Thee ! We bless Thee ! 

O Saviour, risen to-day ! 
Thou who didst drain the bitter cup 
Thou who Thy Ufe didst offer up, 

To take our sins away ! 

We praise Thee ! We bless Thee ! 

O Lord of death and life ! 
We follow where Thy feet have gone, 
Through deepest night to fairest dawn, 

To peace through stubborn strife ! 

We praise Thee ! We bless Thee ! 

Even when our hearts are riven! 
Thou art anear the dying bed, 
Thy hand beneath the fainting head. 

And Thou Thyself art heaven ! 



We praise Thee ! We bless Thee ! 

Beside each lowly mound 
That, daisy-starred or lily-sown, 
Is but the cover gently thrown 

O'er one in Jesus found. 

We praise Thee ! We bless Thee ! 

With every pulse and breath. 

Ours is the never-ending hymn 
That saints began in ages dim. 

Thou Conqueror of Death ! 

We praise Thee ! We bless Thee ! 

This happy Sabbath day. 
Through earth and skies the chorus rings, 
O Lord of lords and King of kings. 

Who takes our sins away. 



THINE IS THE POWER 

Thine is the power, Lord, 

Ours is the need; 
Trusting Thy precious word. 

Dare we to plead. 
Weaker than infants are, 

Lonely and sad, 
Thou art our Morning Star : 
Oh, make us glad. 

Thine is the power, Lord, 

Empty are we ; 
All grace with Thee is stored, 

Filled let us be. 
Vessels Thy hand has made, 

Use us, we pray ; 
So be Thy love displayed 

In us each day. 

Thine is the power, Lord, 

Thou wilt provide j 
Thou canst the strength afford, 

When we are tried,- 
Sorrows around us meet, 

Deep the dark wave, 
Still is Thy promise sweet. 

Yet Thou wilt save. 
139 



Thine is the power, Lord, 

Therefore we come, 
Trusting Thy precious word, 

Thou art our home. 
Till in Thine arms we rest. 

Homesick are we ; 
Fold us to Thy dear breast. 

Draw us to Thee. 



A THOUGHT 

Seen by memory's magic. 

Yesterday is golden ; 
Hope illumes the morrow 5 

Eyes are only holden 
From some fair illusion 

When they view to-day, 
With its mists of morning. 

Bitter blown away. 

Yet of all the morrows 

That from me are hidden ,• 
All the bright days ended 

Coming back unbidden,- 
None or was or will be 

Richer in its way 
Than this open-handed, 

Slightly prized to-day. 
140 



FOLDED- HANDS 

Pale, withered hands that more than four- 
score years 
Had wrought for others — soothed the hurt 

of tears, 
Rocked children's cradles, eased the fever's 

smart, 
Dropped tenderest balm in many an aching 

heart — 
Now stirless folded, like wan rose - leaves 

pressed 
Above the snow and silence of her breast. 
In mute appeal they tell of labors done 
And well-earned rest that came with set of 

sun 5 
From the worn brow the lines of care are 

swept 
As if an angel's kiss the while she slept 
Had smoothed the cobweb wrinkles quite 

away 
And given back the peace of childhood's 
day. 

141 



A smile is on the lips as if she said, 

" None know life's secret save the happy 

dead/' 
And, gazing where she lies, we feel that pain 
And parting cannot cleave her soul again. 
And we are sure that they who saw her 

last 
In that dim vista which we call the past, 
Who never knew her old and weary-eyed, 
Remembering best the maiden and the 

bride, 
Have sprung to greet her with the olden 

speech, 
The dear sweet names no later love can 

teach, 
And "Welcome Home'' they cried, and 

grasped her hands — 
So dwells the mother in the best of lands. 



•THE CURTAIN FALLS 

Over the sorrow and over the bliss, 
Over the tear-drop, over the kiss, 
Over the crimes that blotted and blurred. 
Over the wound of the hasty word, 
Over the deeds in weakness done, 
Over the battles lost and won. 
Now at the end of the flying year, 
Year that to-morrow will not be here, 
Over our freedom, over our thralls, 
In the hush of the midnight the curtain 
falls. 

Over our gain and over our loss, 
Over our crown and over our cross. 
Over the fret of our discontent, 
Over the ill that we never meant. 
Over the scars of our self-denial, 
Over the strength that conquered trial. 
Now in the end of the flying year, 
Year that to-morrow will not be here, 
Quietly final, the prompter calls ^ 
Swiftly the dusk of the curtain falls. 
143 



Over the crowds and the solitudes, 

Over our shifting, hurrying moods, 

Over the hearths whei*e bright flames leap 

Over the cribs where the babies sleep, 

Over the clamor, over the strife, 

Over the pageantry of life. 

Now in the end of the flying year, 

Year that to-morrow will not be here, 

Swiftly and surely, from starry walls, 

Silently downward the curtain falls. 



THE END 



